


When the Past Bites Back

by TriscuitsandSoup



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Angst, Break Up, Developing Relationship, Hunter Chris Argent, M/M, Past Chris Argent/Peter Hale, Past Relationship(s), Werewolf Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-19 08:48:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13701033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriscuitsandSoup/pseuds/TriscuitsandSoup
Summary: Peter leaving left a hole in Chris's heart. Someone else steps up to fill it, but that doesn't stop the thoughts in Chris's head yearning for the past.





	When the Past Bites Back

In the early morning hours, when it was easy to feign sleep and let his breathes draw long and deep, the past had a way of worming back into Chris’s brain. Even as Stiles slumbered softly beside him, the needling thoughts pressed against his mind; a flash of teeth, a bite of lust, and enough red to paint the room. His stomach wrenched with more than hunger and his fingertips dug into Stiles’ skin.

Stiles’ eyebrows furrowed, too deep in sleep to make more of it than a dream. His hair, grown out just enough to brush over his eyelashes, was too dark. His chin and cheeks were soft and clean shaven. Behind his closed lids his eyes were brown instead of blue. Yet, his smile, his smirks, his avoidance of simple questions was enough to push the needles further into Chris’s brain. 

He was so much like the person Peter used to be. It was driving Chris insane.

Chris ran his hand from Stiles’ shoulder down past his chest and over the slight curve of his hip to where bruises remained from the night before, as if smoothing his skin would smooth the turbulent emotions rocking in his chest.

Stiles mumbled in his sleep. Peter used to do that, too.

He buried his nose into Stiles’s scalp to where the scent of discount quality shampoo would mask the stench of sex and sweat that stained them both.

Soon the sun would creep in past the blinds and lay its warmth on both their naked bodies. It felt wrong to let it touch him. What he did with Stiles he only ever did in the dark, where he couldn’t see the flash of Stiles’s eyes or points of his teeth.

He withdrew his hand from Stiles’ body and let it rest on the blanket instead. There were some cigarette burns on the carpet, but at least the bed was clean. Better than shacking up in the back of a car where they’d both get strains from fumbling awkwardly into some suitable position for fucking. Not that they hadn’t. It was unlikely they wouldn’t do it again.

Another thing Stiles shared with Peter, things they had done and things they were going to do.

Chris sat up. The bed creaked underneath him.

Beside him Stiles’s brows furrowed and his eye flickered open. For a second, he stared blearily up at the little patch of water damage on the ceiling. Then his head lolled lethargically to the side and his eyes made contact with Chris’s face. 

“Morning,” Chris said. He smoothed some of the hair back from Stiles’s eyes with a calloused thumb..

Stiles grunted. “I feel like shit.”

“That’s what happens when you drink a bottle by yourself.”

“You do it all the time.”

“I’m old.”

“You’re a fucking rock.”

“God. I wish. Time to get up.”

Stiles groaned and sat up, blanket falling past his naked thighs were yet more dark fingerprints lay.

Chris promptly looked away. He slid off the bed and stood with a stretch. His joints cracked back into place.

“Old man.” 

“You’ll be one too, someday.”

Stiles laughed.

“I won’t make it that long. Remember?”

“I’m trying to be an optimist.”

“Sure,” Stiles said. “Just for today. Chris, the optimist.”

Chris went into the bathroom and turned on the faucet. He washed his hands and then his face, but not once did he look in the mirror. He heard Stiles sneak in past him, felt him brush against his shoulder.

The shower turned on. A metallic scent came with it. 

Chris wiped his face on a towel and left the room, leaving the door wide open behind him. 

“You know you could join me if you want,” Stiles called. 

“I’m going to make breakfast. Do you want anything?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said. “I’d like to see a smile.”

“I’d like to see one that isn’t yours,” Chris said.

Stiles laughed again.

In the kitchen, Chris found just enough bread for a couple slices of toast. He put it in the toaster and poured himself some orange juice. If Stiles had woken up first there might have been eggs or bacon but the domesticity of it made his stomach turn. 

He reached for the slowly mounting stack of newspapers lying on the other side of the table. Each article was marked with several red X’s. A few were circled, but he’d crossed those out too when they proved to be nothing more than animal attacks. 

He went through the small stack of unmarked papers while he ate his modest meal. 

Stiles’s shower dragged on longer than it needed to, but before long there was the wet slap of feet on the tile behind him. A pair of arms draped his neck and a warm cheek pressed to his.

“Stop,” Chris said.

“That’s not what you said last night,” Stiles murmured into his ear.

“Last night was last night,” Chris said as he took a bite of his toast. After a moment's hesitation, his arms slid back and the warmth against Chris’s cheek disappeared.

Stiles made a swipe for a piece of toast. Chris smacked his hand away.

“I always share my breakfast,” Stiles said, rubbing the back of his palm with a grimace.

“I’m not you.” _And you’re not Peter._

“Old bastard,” Stiles said. He rounded the table and opened the cupboards. His wet hair dripped down the nape of his neck to the edge of a red flannel shirt that didn’t belong to him.

“Can you go down the street and get today’s paper?” It wasn’t really a question, but demanding things from Stiles worked as well as showering with molasses.

“Which ones?”

“All of them.”

Stiles closed the cupboards and looked back at him. “You can check them online. I bought you a subscription.”

“I like the physicals. If you make an old man joke I’m kicking you out.”

“This isn’t even your apartment but go ahead. I’ll go home, and you can be here by yourself,” Stiles said. “As if you wouldn’t miss me.” 

A little something snagged inside of Chris. That was the fundamental difference between Peter and Stiles that would break him down, day after day.

Peter left.

Stiles hadn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked please leave a comment, thank you n.n


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